The Honeymoon Arrangement (4 page)

‘Luckily, she can. I was just going through the final non-arrangements with her; people are sympathetic but they still need to be paid. Understandable, since pretty much everything that needed to be ordered has already been ordered.’

‘I bet Rowan refused to be paid,’ Callie said on a small smile. ‘She has a heart as big as the sun.’

Finn nodded. ‘She did, but she will be—just like everyone else. It’s not her fault that things went pear-shaped.’

Pear-shaped? Callie lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Pretty tame word for being jilted. ‘So, what happened?’ she probed again. Yeah, she was nosy—but this man needed to talk … he needed a friend. Who wouldn’t, in his situation? She might be nosy but she could also be a damn good listener.

Finn shook his head. ‘I know that you use your eyes as weapons of interrogation, but I’m not going to go there with you.’

Fair enough, Callie thought. He had a right to his secrets. She just hoped that he had someone to talk to—to work this through with.

Finn rolled his head in an effort to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He tapped his index finger against his thigh. ‘I
can
tell you that my biggest hassle is that I landed a pretty sweet gig—writing articles about the best honeymoon destinations in Southern Africa. Liz
and I were going to spend three weeks travelling … a few days at each destination. My publisher is not going to be happy that I’m doing it solo.’

Callie leaned forward and made a performance of batting her eyelashes. ‘Take me—I’ll be your substitute wife.’

Finn managed a small grin. ‘I’m violently allergic to the word “wife”—even a pretend one.’

‘Well, at least you’d be miserable in comfort.’

‘If I end up keeping the assignment—which I very well might not.’ Finn ran his hands over his short hair and blew out his breath. ‘So, tell me why you’re sitting here in the dark instead of causing chaos in the bar?’

Callie could clearly see that he’d closed the door on any further discussion about his non-wedding. She looked down into her drink and wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not in the mood to be …’

‘Hit on all night?’

‘That too. And someone walked in about fifteen minutes ago who I kind of said I might call. We made plans to have supper, then I had to fly to Milan on short notice—’

‘Fashion-buying emergency?’

Callie lifted her nose at him in response to his gentle sarcasm. ‘Something like that. And I lost his number, and I’m …’

‘Not that interested any more?’

She bit her lip. ‘Yeah. Not that interested.’ She looked out across the ocean to the silver moon that hung low in the sky. She saw the craters, picked out the shape of the rabbit, and sighed.

When she dropped her head her eyes met Finn’s and impulsively she reached out and tangled her fingers in his. She ignored the flash of heat, the rocketing attraction. It wasn’t the time or the place.

‘I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m so sorry for whatever happened that’s put such sadness in your eyes.’

Finn licked his lips before staring at the ocean. ‘Well, it’s not rocket science. I was supposed to be getting married in less than two weeks.’

Callie shook her head, knowing that whatever it was that had mashed up his heart it was more than just losing his ex. ‘I think that getting over her will be a lot easier than getting over whatever else has happened.’

Finn’s eyes widened and she was surprised when he managed a low, harsh chuckle. He picked at the label on his bottle, not meeting her eyes. ‘We changed our minds, decided that marriage wasn’t what we wanted—that’s all that happened.’

No, it wasn’t. But Callie wasn’t going to argue with him. ‘Well, I am so, so sorry—because it’s hurt you badly.’

And for some strange reason the thought of you being hurt makes me feel physically ill
.

Finn stood up abruptly and Callie turned to see Rowan approaching them. Finn surprised her when he bent down and kissed her cheek, taking a moment to whisper in her ear.

‘Callie, you are part witch and part angel and all sexy. I’m leaving before I say or do anything stupid around you.’

Callie inhaled his aftershave and couldn’t help rubbing her cheek against his stubble. ‘Like …?’

‘Like suggesting that you come home with me.’

His comment wasn’t unexpected, and she knew men well enough to know that he was looking for a distraction—a way to step out of the nightmare he was currently experiencing.

Ah, dammit! She wanted to say yes, but she wasn’t going to be any man’s panacea for pain—even one as sexy as this. If they slept together she wanted it to be because he wanted her beyond all reason and not just to dull the pain, to forget, to step outside his life.

She had to be sensible and she forced the words out. ‘Sorry, Finn, that’s really not a good idea.’

Finn raked his hand through his hair. ‘I know …’He held her eyes and shrugged. ‘I really do know. Rowan, hi—I was just leaving …’

A
HALF HOUR LATER
Finn tossed down the keys to his house and stared at the coffee-coloured tiles beneath his feet for a moment. Blowing air into his cheeks, he walked through the hall and down the passage to the kitchen, yanked open the double-door fridge and pulled out a beer.

Looking over to the open-plan couch area, he saw the pillow and sheet he’d left on the oatmeal-coloured couch. He’d spent the last few nights on that couch, not sleeping. He couldn’t sleep in the bedroom—and not only because he no longer had a mattress on the bed.

Finn rubbed his forehead with the base of the cold bottle, hoping to dispel the permanent headache that had lodged in his brain since last week. Tuesday.

Along with the headache, the same horror film ran on the big screen in his mind …

God, there had been so much blood. As long as he lived he’d remember that bright red puddle on the sheets, Liz grunting beside him, as white as a sheet. He remembered calling for an ambulance and that it had seemed to take for ever to come, remembered Liz sobbing, more blood. The white walls of the hospital, the worried face of the obstetrician. Being told that they had to get Liz into surgery to make sure they didn’t lose her too.

It had taken a while for that statement to make sense, and when it had pain had ricocheted through his body
and stopped at his heart. Their baby was gone. He also remembered their final conversation as he’d perched on a chair next to her bed, knowing that she was awake but not wanting to talk to him.

‘I lost the baby,’ she’d said eventually.

‘Yeah. I’m so sorry.’

Liz had shrugged, her eyes sunken in her face. ‘I feel … empty.’ She’d turned her head to look at the flowers he’d bought for her in the hospital gift shop. ‘I want to go home, Finn.’

‘The doctors say in a day or two. They want to keep an eye on you. You lost a lot of blood. Then I’ll take you home.’

Liz shook her head. ‘I want to go home—back to Durban, to my folks. We didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant so I don’t need to explain.’

She fiddled with the tape holding a drip into her vein. When she wouldn’t look at him—at all—he knew what she was about to say.

‘I don’t want to get married any more. We’ve lost the reason we were both prepared to risk it. We loved the baby but we don’t love each other—not enough to get married.’

He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘God, Liz. Why don’t we take some time to think about that?’

‘We don’t have time, Finn. And you know that I’m right. If I hadn’t fallen pregnant we would’ve split. You know it and I know it.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too.’ Liz looked at him then, finally, with pain and sadness and, yes, relief vying for control of her expression. ‘Can you cancel the wedding? Sort out the house?’

‘Sure.’ It was the least he could do.

‘And, Finn? I don’t want anyone to know that I lost the baby. Just say that we called it quits, okay?’

Now, four days later, he was sad and confused and, to
add hydrochloric acid to an open wound, stuck with all the bills for a wedding that wouldn’t happen.

Finn wrestled with the dodgy lock of the door that led out to the balcony and stepped out onto the huge outdoor area. He loved this house—mostly for the tremendous view. From most rooms he had endless views of False Bay, the wildness of the Peninsular, the rocking, rolling Atlantic Ocean. Out here on the balcony he felt he could breathe.

Liz loved the house too, and because she’d spent more time here than he had it seemed as if it was more hers than his. His name might be on the mortgage agreement, but she’d furnished and decorated the place—filled it with the things that made it a home. He supposed that he’d have to go through the place and pack up her stuff—which was pretty much everything. The house would be empty. But to him it felt mostly empty anyway.

They’d tried so hard to play the part of a happy family, but innate honesty had him admitting that, while he was devastated at the loss of their child, he wasn’t heartbroken about the wedding being called off. Losing Liz didn’t feel like something that had derailed his world, and shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t he be feeling—
more
? More pain? More confusion? More broken-hearted?

Instead of mourning the loss of his lover he was mourning not being able to hold his child, not being a dad. Although most of his and Liz’s conversations lately had revolved around the wedding, they had obviously talked about the birth. They’d been excited—well,
he’d
been excited, Liz had been less so. They’d talked about what type of birth she wanted, had tossed a couple of names around, and he’d been in the process of moving his gym equipment from the third bedroom to the garage so that they could use the room as a nursery.

He felt lousy—as if his world had been tipped upside down. Was it crazy to feel so crap over losing a half-formed,
half-baked person to whom he’d contributed DNA but whom he’d never met? Was this normal? Was his grief reasonable? God, he just didn’t know.

And how much of his grief was over the baby and how much of it was the residue of the pain he felt about losing James? It felt as if his heart was wrapped in a dull, grey, icy, soggy blanket. The only time he’d felt as if it had lifted—even a little bit—was earlier this evening, when he’d been talking to Callie. For some reason that crazy flirt had managed to lift his spirits. It had been a brief respite and one he’d badly needed.

Finn drank again, leaned his forearms on the railing and stared hard at his feet. He knew that most people thought that because he was a travel journalist that he was a free spirit—that he was a laid-back type of individual—but nothing could be further from the truth. He was a Third Dan black belt in Taekwondo, held a black belt in Jiu-jitsu and, like the other two, his Krav Maga also demanded immense amounts of control and discipline.

But no amount of control, self-discipline or philosophising could rationalise this pain away. Because he’d tried. He really had.

He needed time, he decided—a lot of it—to sort out his head and his heart. Time to think through all he’d recently lost. His baby, his dreams of a family, even his stepdad. He needed time to get back on his feet, to make solid decisions, to work through the emotion of the last couple of weeks, months, years.

And even though he’d been so tempted to ask Callie to come home with him—sleeping with her would have been the perfect way to step out of his head—he knew that he needed to be alone for a while, to keep women at a distance, to work through what had gone wrong with Liz and how.

Ten days, he told himself, and he would be on a plane
to Kruger National Park for the first leg of his Southern Africa trip. Ten days and he could get some distance from this house, from the memory of the blood, Liz’s ashen face, from the craziness of cancelling the wedding. Ten days and he would have an excuse to avoid all the calls from his friends and family. He wouldn’t have to open the door to any of his three brothers who were taking turns to check up on him, making sure that he was okay.

Finn sighed. Ten more days. A part of him wished he was hiring a kitted-out Land Rover with rooftop tents and heading out into wild, crazy Africa. But visiting upmarket honeymoon destinations wouldn’t be a kick in the pants either.

As Callie had said, there was something to be said for licking his wounds in luxury.

If he actually got to keep the job.

The travel magazine had forked out a shedload of cash, and some of the hotels had sponsored his stay in exchange for an honest review of their honeymoon experience. He would be writing the story but he was supposed to take his wife’s opinions into consideration as he did so … except now he didn’t have a wife to take.

He had to talk to Mike, his editor—and sooner rather than later.

Tomorrow Rowan would send out a blanket email to the wedding guests on his behalf and Mike, as a guest, would receive said email and soon put two and two together. Finn scrunched up his face, annoyed that he hadn’t contacted Mike sooner. Cape Town was a small city and he might even have heard already.

Finn glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. A bit late to call, but that couldn’t be helped. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked up Mike’s number, sighing as he pushed the green button.

‘I wondered when you’d get around to calling me,’ Mike answered without any preamble.

Finn rubbed his forehead. ‘Yeah, it’s been a bit mad. I presume you’ve heard that the wedding is off?’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

Finn heard Mike clearing his throat and jumped in before he could speak again.

‘I’d still like to do the assignment.’

‘It’s a bit pointless without a wife,’ Mike said.

‘Can’t I leave the honeymoon bit out and just write on the lodges themselves?’

‘It’s scheduled to be part of the honeymoon issue, Finn, with honeymoon and wedding advertising. The article has to concentrate on the honeymoon aspect.’

Finn swore.

Mike’s voice in his ear sounded worried and frustrated. ‘Tell me about it. I’m in a Catch-22 situation. The publisher agreed to foot the bill, as did many of the hotels, because
you
were writing the article. One of the world’s best adventure and travel journalists writing on honeymoons. They loved the idea. And the promo people have already started working on the edition. You’re part of that.’